


Think Of Me and My Music

by VikMik222



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Multi, Phantom of the Opera AU, victorian london
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikMik222/pseuds/VikMik222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Watson has returned from the war and looking for work however his efforts do not work. However, due to help of an old friend who now owns one of London's most famous theatres, finds work as a personal physician to a band of misfits who are in need of help. Someone sinister has been terrorising the Haymarket theatre and Dr John Watson is about to walk into a world of sin, mystery and betrayal before he can discover what is really happening backstage...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think Of Me and My Music

**Author's Note:**

> So... I have finally bucked up the courage to write a Johnlock fanfic story based on the 'Phantom of the Opera' universe. I know many people have done it before but I do hope my version of such a story is enjoyable! Please note I will be using lyrics from the songs (which belong to fantastic Andrew Lloyd-Webber) but do not fear I am not writing this as though I'm writing the script of a musical.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

  

Smoke filled the air as the people below it bustled in the streets. Many of them slowly making their way through a days works while others barely surviving. The town of London had certainly changed even in a few years away on duty. Still, it was a comforting sight to see a familiar world once more- even though there wasn’t much waiting for him on his return.

John Watson found it difficult to accustom himself back in the throws of his former life. He had trained hard and suffered much during his time fighting oversees as to what was considered ‘the great war’. Now after returning back to England with a shoulder wound and little money to his name, he had to once again try and survive- find somewhere he could stay and begin to rebuild his life… Any kind of life he could manage.

Since his return he managed to find temporary accommodation. However he found himself sat in the restaurant of his inn, scouring the newspaper for adds with suitable vacancies- both in shape of home or work. 

The whiskey he held in hand was the only comfort he held and sighed in exasperation. He placed the paper down before him, sitting back and taking a few savoured sips. Though as he made himself comfortable he felt as though someone was watching. His eyes glanced to the side, spying a man at the bar. The man was round, frumpy- yet his clothes showed money. Perhaps he was an aristocrat- or perhaps one of the lucky few who’s family name brought him all the wealth he needed…

This man continued to watch him, seeming unsure of whether or not to approach. John didn’t seem to care. It wasn’t like he was gawping at him like some marvel at a travelling circus- in fact the man seemed more confuse than anything. Still, John finally turned his eyes away, plucking the small pencil he had earlier placed on the table and returned searching through the news paper.

“Excuse me…” Came a voice. John was quick to look up. Ah, it seemed the man had finally found the courage to talk to him. The ex-army soldier carefully sat back once more and lifted his head.

“May I help you?” 

“Yes- you’re John Hamish Watson, are you not?” The man asked, a somewhat excited tone in his voice. “Don’t you remember me?”

John furrowed his brow. Well, it was obvious this man remembered _him_ but it was difficult to put a face to a name for John. He cleared his throat and offered the stranger an apologetic smile.

“I’m afraid you will have to forgive me- my memories are a little faded. But to answer your question, yes, I am.”

The man smiled brighter and was quick to take the chair opposite the ashen blonde.

“Yes, it has been some time since we met. I’m Mike Stamford- we were old acquaintances in Oxford! You were studying medicine at the time- and if memory serves you were quite the rugby man as well~! I was studying politics at the time- well- it was my main form of study... We shared the same dormitory!”

“Oh… Oh!” John gasped as revelation suddenly hit. “Yes! Mike! You were one of the large supporters of our rugby team- and as I remember probably had the finest wine in the whole school!”

Mike was quick to nod, a proud glimmer in his eye. “I may not have looked it but I did pride myself on my hosting skills whenever we and the boys met.” He chuckled, waving at the bartender to bring them drinks. He removed his top hat and made himself comfortable, enjoying the nostalgic discussion. “My, it has been _far_ too long, my friend. How have you been? Have you been well? Tell me, did the ‘Great Dr Watson’ fulfil his medical dream~?”

Watson watched and listened, thanking the waitress as she brought a bottle of red wine to the table. He turned his emerald eyes to Stamford and listen to his questions. His smile slowly disappeared and turned to a more tired frown.

“Yes and no, I’m afraid. I did manage to make it into the army and I was very happy with the work I was able to do. Sadly… My time in the army was cut short- not because of the end of the war- but due to injury. I was sent home and now I’m in need of work. I was hoping to set up my own surgery in London but I need the means first before I can put my plan into action.” John glanced back to his old acquaintance and finally smiled once more. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to take a more miserable turn in the conversation…”

“No! Please do not apologise!” Mike suddenly blurted as John tried to apologise. The man grinned widely and plucked a glass from the round tray, pouring both of them a glass of wine. “In fact, I do believe I may have the answer to your dilemma. Ever since our university days I managed to make myself quite the living and have recently became the owner of the Haymarket theatre here in London. It’s quite the handful but I have big plans- you know well as many of our other friends know that I always enjoyed the arts and always quite fancied running such an establishment- well, I made my goal! However… Since taking on such a role I have come across a few, how can I put it… _issues_ … Many which require the need of a doctor. I am in need of a doctor on site- someone to help with stagehands, actors, actresses- visitors- someone who can just help while I get my feet on the ground and can fix our current problems. Would you be interested? I can provide accommodation in the theatre itself if you so need it!”

John sat in awe- a job, in the theatre? Well, such an opportunity didn’t come ever day. It was still quite the thought. He did always enjoy the theatre just like anyone else but never considered his work would be so valued in such an establishment.

“I would love to! If I can be of service then I will do my best.”

“Wonderful!” Stamford chimed, handing John a glass. “I will assure you that you will be paid well and that your accommodation will be the finest-!”

“But…” John paused, stopping his friend for a moment while taking the wine. “… What were these issues you spoke of…? Anything that I can be assistance in?”

The man before him began to still, staring back to John for a moment before looking into the glass in his hands. He seemed concerned at discussing such things but eventually cleared his throat. 

“You may find me sounding foolish but we have some issues with the theatre. Some say it’s cursed. We’ve had multiple accidents- even deaths. The theatre and staging can be dangerous, I will not deny that, but you see we have had deaths, which weren’t accidents… Obviously murders. The people hired to work at the theatre may seem like unsavoury characters but someone is causing problems- someone heinous- malicious… Luckily the macabre rumours have not turned patrons coming to see our shows but it puts off people wishing to perform there- we don’t know who is causing such anguish and yet I cannot afford to stop our work. The people who work in the theatre are like a family… We can’t let someone try and ruin something as grand as the Haymarket theatre. I will not allow it…” Mike furrowed his brow as a look of determination appeared on his face. It was apparent he wasn’t going to give in to such a dire situation.

John listened, staring as his friend spoke, noting down his concerns. It did seem like quite the turn off in terms of work…

“Look, John…” The man spoke. “I will not blame you if you suddenly do not wish to take my offer. I would feel utterly horrid if you were caught up in these dastardly affairs.” 

For a moment the doctor did contemplate his situation. Yes, he didn’t particularly wish to get caught up in anything scandalous… And yet…

“Don’t worry, Stamford.” Watson suddenly spoke. “I’ll take up your offer. It’s terrible to hear someone is causing such trouble but if I can help stop it or at least give some support through my work then I will do it. I’ve seen fear and stared death in the face. I’m sure whatever is lurking in your theatre isn’t as terrifying as people make out for it to be. Let me help.” 

A sudden rush of relief washed over Mike. His face grew soft and his eyes relaxed. The man patted the top of Watson’s hand, offering him a warm smile.

“Thank you, my friend… I really appreciate your help.” Stamford grasped his glass and held it to the air. “Then it is official. You shall be the Haymarket’s personal physician!” He softly tapped his glass to John’s before heartedly drinking what was left in one smooth movement. The man sighed softly, delighted at the warm feeling of alcohol sliding down his throat. It felt like an weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “When can you move in?”

“Tomorrow if you want me so soon.” 

“Magnificent!” Mike chimed, ordering another bottle of wine as he poured the last few drops into their glasses. “Then come to the main entrance of the Haymarket at nine in the morning. Bring your things. I will have everything prepared over this evening and it will be ready for you in the morning.  Please, for now we will have another drink and then I will leave you in peace~”

**************

Just as Stamford had noted, the good doctor was at the theatre as requested, a few minutes early in fact. He carefully got himself out of the hansom cab. He stepped onto the pavement, holding a suitcase while the driver kindly placed his trunk down by his side.

John was quick to pay the kind man before starting to carry his things to the doors of the large Haymarket theatre. It was a magnificent building… The pillars before the doors were tall- almost foreboding- and yet it held a majestic atmosphere. He had merely glimpsed the theatre in his youth and yet heard how popular it was. People enjoyed their evening’s there- beautiful music, delicious food and drinks offered before and after every performance and a building which held so many secrets… 

Excitement lingered in the doctor’s chest. He was nervous and yet he felt delighted. He wanted to explore and see what this new opportunity had to offer. 

He took a deep breath before walking through the doors.

The foyer was breath taking. The light filtered through the windows, shining across the marble floors, the blood red carpet that travelled in different doors and the chandeliers above glimmered so sweetly. There must have been tenderness used when cleaning such intricate craftsmanship. 

John certainly was taken away with the wonderful view. He almost felt as though he did not deserve to reside in such decadent beauty.

“And here is the man of the hour!” Chimed Stamford as he through open a set of doors from atop the stairs where John stood. The large man quickly began to shuffle down the stairs, happiness abound in every step. “And am I correct to say that is all of your belongings? Someone take these to Dr Watson’s office! Up on the top floor- quickly!” Mike commanded, as one of his young helpers was quick to scurry out of the doors on the ground floor, gathering the good doctor’s bags. Watson was quick to thank them only to be interrupted as his new employer grasped his hand. “I’m ever so glad to see you again, my dear friend. Come, you have so many people to meet! Some of our benefactors have come to see the rehearsals of our latest production of ‘Hannibal’. Of course, since you will be working here you will be allowed to watch all of our performances for free~”

“My lord, Stamford. You certainly didn’t lose any of your excitable tendencies since we were students…” Watson managed to mumble as he was promptly dragged up the stairs. He wanted to look around, get a feel of the beautiful building but it appeared Stamford had other matters he wanted sorting before having freedom. 

They passed through only a short number of corridors before he opened the doors to the main hall. The doors swung open and there was the stage itself. It was much larger than John imagined it to be. It was a phenomenal sight.

There was over a thousand chairs- everything looked as though it had been decorated with the finest materials- the chairs were soft to the touch, gold trimmings lit up the very being of the walls and stage and the lighting looked as though the sun itself was lighting up the stage. John was mesmerised. The deeper Stamford took him into the building the more the doctor wanted to go further… 

Quietly the man led him down the steps while the gathered group of dancers continued to rehearse. There were sounds of murmurs that were drowned out from time to time by the head mistress that was leading the synchronised piece.

However Stamford did not approach the stage but instead made his way down through the first circle and along the aisles of the of the stalls. Merely a few rows from the front were two gentlemen, one in his early thirties and another in his late twenties. It sounded as though the two were having an argument.

“You’re not the one placing the majority of the money into this establishment- you do not get to say who should be fired!” One man snapped as he kept his eyes firmly on the women on stage. He sat tall, nose up and eyes focussed. He kept his hands placed one other the other atop of an umbrella upon his lap. The man seemed to wear the finest of suits and had an air of importance.

“But it’s clearly obvious the brunette to the left is nothing more than a thief! She’s probably adding to the loss of profits and ‘mysterious’ disappearances of some of the silver ware here! Ask Mrs Hudson to check her bags- go through her belongings! Her shoes obviously do not belong to her- a woman of her age and work she does he does would not be able to afford such finery. Even the lack of talent in her performance is blaringly obvious!” The younger of the two bit back in return. He appeared slightly more aloof than his companion. His hair was a mess of thick black curls, skin pale, his cheekbones high and his eyes a particular shade of blue.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen, _please_! I leave you alone for five minutes and you two end up at each other’s throats. It would almost appear like you two weren’t even brothers…” Mike gave an exasperated sigh. The two merely glared at one another, briefly taking a moment to stare at each other before grimacing at the notion of being related… Even if they actually were… “Now, I want you to introduce the physician who will be working with us for the foreseeable future. Gentlemen, this is Dr John Watson.”

 The two turned to the blonde man and watched him for a moment.

John cleared his throat and bowed his head briefly. “It’s nice to meet the both of you.” 

Mike smiled before waving his hand to the two brothers. “Watson, this is Mr Mycroft Holmes and his brother, Sherlock.” Mycroft gently nodded his head but didn’t give any greetings. Sherlock, on the other hand, merely sat and stared. His eyes looked John up and down, almost inspecting him. “These two are merely half of our very generous benefactors. They’ve been close partners with the theatre for many years now-“

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” Sherlock suddenly asked. Mike stopped and looked back to the young Holmes brother

The doctor looked between Mike and the Holmes brothers, pondering a moment if he was actually talking to him or not.

“Excuse me…?” The man asked, staring back at the waiting man.

“Iraq or Afghanistan? It’s a simple question, Dr Watson. You served in the army. Or am I wrong…?” 

John glanced back to Stamford and furrowed his brow. “I’m guessing you already discussed with your benefactors of my past?”

“No! I’ve only been able to meet Mycroft and Sherlock for only a moment this morning. I haven’t spoken to them since I met you the other night.” Mike quickly explained.

The doctor watched the bumbling man for a moment before finally putting Sherlock out of his misery. John carefully stood straight and nodded as he began to speak. “Afghanistan. I worked as a military surgeon for a number of years before being made to return to England.” He explained. Sherlock merely raised a brow and sat back in his seat. “How did you-“

However before he could pry further into the sudden question another suddenly interrupted the current group. 

“Stamford! I hear you hired another waif and stray. You should really consider having furrow discussions with the person at hand before just handing someone a job without taking the proper precautions.” A silver-haired gentleman spoke as he made his way down the stairs. He wore a long tailed suit, seemed to be in his mid forties but seemed familiar with everyone there.

“Ah, Mr Lestrade, just on time as always…” Mycroft muttered as he rose to his feet. Sherlock continued to keep himself seated, eyes moving back and forth between the dancers and watching the new doctor.

“Lestrade…?” John asked- it couldn’t have been the same Lestrade he once knew? He turned, just as the silver haired man was strutting down the aisle.

He removed his hat and was about to make another quip before standing before the shorter man who stared back him with the same shock. “… John?” Lestrade gawped.

John furrowed his brow and failed at hiding back a delighted grin. “Greg? Is that really you…?

Greg grinned back brightly and was quick to take John’s hand in a hearty handshake. “I can’t believe it! Little Johnny, here! Back in London and all grown up… It has been _far_ too long… Who knew Mike Stamford would hire you. At least I’ll know he’ll be in marvellous hands!” The man perked up like an excited puppy. He kept a grasp on the doctor’s hand and continued to talk with such joy. “The only ever time I would imagine you in a theatre is singing in it.”

“Oh- I couldn’t. My talents lied in my studies and work in Afghanistan. I wouldn’t be allowed on a stage.”

“He is right.” Mycroft Holmes muttered again. “We pay our share to put professionals on that stage. Not amateurs. You should know that by now, Detective Inspector…”

“Detective Inspector?” John snorted in surprise. “You really have hit your dream, haven’t you? I’m very happy for you.”

Lestrade’s smile softened and his heart fluttered. It had been far too long, so long ago and they were still innocent at the time of their friendship that Gregory Lestrade fell for his dear friend over the years. Ever since he heard the news that John had placed himself in the army he had thought he would had never seen him again. And yet now… he was here… With him… How could he not be happy?

The detective inspector cleared his throat, shifting the weight on his feet as he finally released John’s hand. “Please, we must have dinner tonight. I want to know everything you’ve been doing and in return I’ll explain to you everything you want to know. Please, I simply can not pass up a chance to catch up with you.”

Mycroft merely frowned and looked back to his brother. He prodded his sibling’s leg with his umbrella.

“Will you be staying here or will you be returning home with me? Mother does want to see you at least once this week…”

Sherlock merely frowned and fixed his eyes firmly on the stage, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will follow you out shortly… No need to make yourself suffer out here…” He muttered in return.

The older Holmes brother merely stuck his nose up at the reply and made his way past Watson, Lestrade and Stamford before strutting out of the hall.

Mike smiled a little and sighed. “You’ll have to forgive the older Mr Holmes, he’s quite the character once you get to know him. But, for now, we have many more people for you to meet.” 

“I’ll come with you.” Greg insisted. “I have some matters I want to discuss with you Stamford regarding the investigation.” 

“Investigation?” John asked, about to pry further before Sherlock rose to his feet.

“In regards to the ‘ _Phantom of the Opera’_. It’s utter codswallop. The need for police to give such an eccentric name to a murder is far to ridiculous… However the papers now a days demand it so sadly the name spreads like the plague… If there’s any updates I must demand to hear them as well.” 

“After you met with your mother… Once you have you can find me here tonight. I’ll be here for almost all of the evening if you’re so _dying_ to hear it… Or Stamford could update you tomorrow. Wouldn’t hurt for you to leave the theatre for an evening…” Greg spoke, force lingering in his voice as he stared back at the dark haired man as though he said something hateful. 

Sherlock sneered back at Greg, turning on his heel to leave.

“Wait! Mr Holmes!” John suddenly interrupted, holding up his hand to stop the tall man from leaving. Sherlock looked over his shoulder to the shortest of the group, raising a brow. The doctor swallowed, clearing his throat. “I just want to know… how did you know I was in the war? Earlier all you did was look at me…” 

The pale man stood there for a moment and looked back to the men staring at him. He paused before finally facing John fully.

“Your tan line- it’s obvious you have been abroad- however it only stays by your wrists and your neck. It wasn’t for luxury but instead for business. By the way you walk and the way you address yourself it is obvious you have been trained- not medically but within the armed forces. You also have the aroma only spices used in the East commonly use. You were sent back to England because you were injured- in your right shoulder to be precise- before you ask, you hold your arm from time to time- or shall I say, you rest your left hand to your right, perhaps from habit from where you held your arm in a sling while your wound was healing…”

 Stamford and Lestrade merely stood and watched, not seeming shocked by the deduction. Watson, however, looked utterly surprised. Sherlock watched all three men and turned to walk away again.

“Amazing…”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks once more and quickly turned back to the shocked doctor. “… Excuse me…?”

John knitted his brow and realised what he muttered out loud. He stood straight and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Hm…" 

Holmes stared for a moment- for once speechless. It had been quite some time since someone was genuinely surprised by his deductions instead of disgusted. He almost looked flustered by this. However, he stood up straight and cleared his throat before turning to leave.

“No… It’s quite all right… Good day to you, Dr Watson…” Without any further complaints or snipes, the younger Holmes brother took his leave, heading out the door. But before he left, he turned his shoulder and watched as the new staff member was ushered up to the stage with Stamford and Lestrade following behind. “…”


End file.
